


Cliffside Echoes

by abominableBebop, evitably



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Illustrated, Post-Anime, Trans Character, an unlikely encounter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abominableBebop/pseuds/abominableBebop, https://archiveofourown.org/users/evitably/pseuds/evitably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Chrollo finds he's not quite as alone as he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cliffside Echoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairybeef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairybeef/gifts).



> Beta'd _thoroughly_ by [Sriracha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sriracha)(/Salem). Thank you so much, Salem - it would've been a much weaker story without you. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Artwork was drawn by [abominableBebop](http://archiveofourown.org/users/abominableBebop), who goes by [trivelie](http://trivelie.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and posts her art on [abominablebebop](http://abominablebebop.tumblr.com/). You can also find the drawing [on tumblr](http://doughtier.tumblr.com/post/97506161107).
> 
> *
> 
> Dearest Kiwi: I've activated a mysterious and ancient time technique in order to make sure it's done and posted on June 10, and not approximately 3 months later.
> 
> Happy birthday, m'meme!

The crunch of shoes over gravel alerts Chrollo to the fact that he's no longer alone. He raises his eyes from his book and finds himself looking at the back of a girl, standing on the other side of the abandoned playground he's sought refuge in on his slow way east. She's young, probably no older than ten, and her pale hands stand out in sharp contrast to the dark mass of hair that tumbles down her shoulders. 

Chrollo leans back against the bench, ignoring the book in his hands for the moment. He's always loved mysteries, and here, right in front of him, one has just showed up: 

Seconds ago, the girl hadn't been there. 

(He would've noticed her, if she had. To get to where she is, she would've had to walk past his bench and over a long stretch gravel, but there had been been no shadow, no sound, and while Chrollo cannot access his nen, his senses are still sharp.) 

The girl tilts her head left, right, up, and Chrollo returns his eyes to his open book before she turns around and sees him looking. She huffs when she sees him, and Chrollo turns his face up again, catches her gaze, and offers a polite smile that serves its purpose when she huffs again and stomps farther away from him, close to the fence that marks the end of the playground and the start of a cliff's edge. 

She's the first person Chrollo's seen in days. 

He'd been off with her age. She's twelve, he thinks. Thirteen? He finds it difficult to assess her age from the way she looks -- her face (familiar in a way Chrollo can't place) is thin and somewhat angular, and her shoulders are a little wide. She's as pale as her hands (smooth, uncalloused) insinuated, and her face would be unmarked if not for the tear-tracks that start at the corners of her eyes. 

Chrollo closes the book and discards it next to him on the bench, leaving it for the sun to bleach and the rain to soak through the pages. (He doesn't care; that's where he found it.) He contemplates his next action while he watches the girl collect some of the gravel in her hands, then throw the pebbles past the fence, past the edge of the cliff, and into an invisible void that echoes the sounds of rock hitting stone back up to her. She waits until the sound dies down, then throws another, and another, and another, until she's run out of pebbles and has to gather more. 

He stands. The girl tenses at the sound of the gravel shifting under his weight, but doesn't react otherwise. He walks over to her, passes her by, and leans his hip against the cliffside fence some way off from her, following the arc of the stones in the air with his eyes. 

Without turning to her, he says, "If you relax your grip, you'll be able to throw the pebbles farther." 

There's a pause before the girl sends the next pebble flying; it still goes more _up_ rather than _away_ , but it's obvious she's adjusted her hold on it, didn't hold it tight enough to turn her knuckles white this time. 

"It worked!" she gasps. 

Chrollo smiles. He shifts his weight against the fence so he's angled a little more in her direction, able to see her from the corner of his eye without turning his head, letting her see his profile without his bangs getting in the way. "Try moving your wrist with the motion, now." 

There’s a longer pause while the girl struggles with his instructions. The next stone doesn't even come near the distance of the first stones she'd thrown, instead landing on the ground past the fence and only falling off the cliff by way of sliding across naked rock. 

Her throw improves through some practice, but her wrist is still too rigid. She makes a frustrated sound at the back of her throat before walking up to him and offering him one of the pebbles. "Will you show me how?" 

Chrollo extends his hand to accept it; it's warm, heated by the late summer sun and the girl's skin. He positions it in his hand, between his fingers and shows it to her. 

"Like holding a pencil?" she asks, fumbling with another stone to imitate his hold. 

"Close," he confirms. Once her grip looks decent enough, he takes two steps away from her, angles his body slightly away from the fence, pulls his hand back and throws. It sails in a nearly straight line away from him, as far away as he can make it go without nen. 

"Whoa!" she says. "Could I do that too?" 

"With practice, yes." 

Her brow furrows in concentration. She angles her body similar to Chrollo, keeps her wrist below the level of her head, doesn't grip the pebble too hard. She takes in a deep breath, changes the centre of her weight, and sends the stone flying -- 

\-- in not quite as straight a line as his, but close. 

"I did it!" the girl exclaims. 

Chrollo stares at her, dumbfounded, before shaking himself out of his surprise and giving her a smile. "Well done." She beams up at him and takes another stone. Her form, when she throws it, is almost perfect; almost as if she'd gone through physical training at some point in her childhood, then stopped. 

The _stopping_ part surprises him more than the training. 

"I wonder," she says softly, "if my brother would've taught me?" 

"Your brother?" asks Chrollo. 

She nods and throws the last pebble she has. Instead of picking more up and resuming throwing like Chrollo expects her to, she heads towards the swings, her steps soft upon the gravel. Much softer than the average person's. "He doesn't like it when I do things like this," she says once she settles on one of the swings. 

He joins her on the swingset, sits on the other swing, and loops his arms around the rope holding the seat up and sets it into a gentle rocking motion. "Like throwing stones?" he asks, and she nods. In contrast to him, she's sitting with her hands in her lap, looking at the ground, and utterly still. "Why?" 

"He says I shouldn't have to." 

"Except," Chrollo guesses, "you'd like to." 

(He'd seen talent in the way she moved and the grace and confidence she'd mustered simply after watching him demonstrating the motions once. That same talent should be tended to, developed until nothing could stand in her way, not stifled until it dies out.) 

She nods. 

  
  
[art @ tumblr](http://doughtier.tumblr.com/post/97506161107) by [abominablebebop](http://abominablebebop.tumblr.com/)/[trivelie](http://trivelie.tumblr.com/)   


Chrollo slows the swing to a stop, lets his hands fall from the ropes into his lap. He looks into the horizon, at the cloudless, pale sky, and calculates how long it will be before sunset. An hour or two, at most. He wonders where the girl will spend the night. He glances at her, wondering how she'd take being invited to stay with him, and sees that she's clenched her hands into fists. 

"We were fighting about it before I came here," she says. "I don't want him to have to protect me anymore!" 

He smiles. "You'd rather learn how to protect yourself?" 

She puffs up. "And him! He needs someone who'll protect _him_." 

He says, "He's very lucky to have a sister like you." He expects her to beam at him again, but instead there's a frozen, stale pause that settles between them. 

"Sometimes," she says softly, expression looking far older than her face, "I feel that his life would be easier if I was gone." 

Chrollo hums. "But would it be better?" 

The girl works her mouth in silence for a moment before shaking her head. 

"An easy life is not always a _good_ life," Chrollo says gently. 

She stares at him. Her eyes shine brightly, but she doesn't cry, bowing her head down and rocking back and forth on her swing instead. "Do you think he'll be angry with me?" 

"For running away?" guesses Chrollo, and she nods. "I imagine he's rather worried." 

"I should get back, then," she says glumly. 

Chrollo smiles. Finally. "The nearest town is two days away." 

The girl looks up at him, surprise written all over her face. "Really?" She looks around them, at the small cliff-side playing ground, finally seeming to take in the bleached wood, frayed ropes and rusted metal of the equipment. 

"This place was abandoned some time ago," he says. "You're the first person I've seen this week." 

Her mouth falls open, her eyes widen, and she seems horrified on his behalf. "You must've been so lonely!" 

Something twists low in Chrollo's gut, edged and sharp and breathtaking. "I like the solitude," he says uncomfortably, and avoids thinking about why his words sound so hollow in his own ears. 

"I don't," says the girl, and there are patches of red on her cheeks now, and force behind her words: "I don't want to _ever_ be alone again." 

Chrollo takes a deep breath, slows his heartbeat, and speaks only once he feels he has himself under control again. "Is your brother close by, then?" 

"We crossed into Yorbia yesterday -- is Yorbia close?" 

"Yorbia?" Chrollo asks, stunned. 

She nods. "My brother has a Hunter licence, but I don't, so we had to sneak past border control in the dark." 

"Yorbia is on the other side of the ocean. A long way to the east," Chrollo manages to say, albeit with difficulty. "How did you _get_ here?" 

"I wanted to get away from my brother. We had a fight, remember?" she says as if that explained everything. 

"You came here because you simply wished to get away?" 

"Yeah!" 

"But _how_?" 

She gives Chrollo a funny look, and he gets the feeling she thinks he's being stupid. "You said it yourself," she says. "I wished it." 

Chrollo wishes he could activate his _gyou_ without fear of death. What he wouldn't give to be able to observe the girl's ability to change locations at will, to take it for himself. The many ways he could utilise it ... He can practically taste the opportunities such a skill would create on the back of his tongue, sense it tingling across his fingertips. 

As it is now, though, all he can do is ask her questions about her skills, and hope he gleans something from her vague answers. There's no rush; nightfall will come soon, and he will invite her to stay with him. Chrollo already knows she'll say yes: the girl prefers company to being alone. 

But before he opens his mouth, she hops off the swing and onto her feet, hands stretched wide for balance, palms facing out. She smiles at him. "I'm glad I met you, but I really should head back to my brother now." 

Chrollo smiles back. Something bothers him though, a thought yet unmaterialised that he can't focus on. He's about to speak once more, but her eyes and mouth turn black, still twisted in a smile that doesn't look quite so human anymore. 

"Thank you," she says, 

and disappears. 

  
  
  
  
And Chrollo is still seated on the swing, still staring at where she'd been a mere second ago, mouth open with the start of a word that will never get finished, and it takes him a moment to realise that once again, he is alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Mysterious and ancient time technique: deactivated. Welcome back to September the 14th, Kiwi. It missed you.


End file.
